I stopped by my apartment in Los Feliz before I headed out to the mansion.

My heart was racing. Sitting next to me was an-honest-to-God crossbow. Sitting next to it was a leather quiver containing three silver-tipped bolts. I happened to know first hand that these bolts were the real deal. Nothing silver-plated here.

With only a few slight variations to my story, Boyd had confirmed the crazy details. He had watched in stunned silence as the woman climbed awkwardly out of the casket and up to the surface. Her clean clothing was filthy by the time she stood on shaky legs. She had stared at Boyd blankly, and then she turned and stumbled through the graveyard, looking pale and impossibly thin. By Boyd's estimation, she had been in the grave for three months.

It was mid-morning as I headed up Los Feliz Blvd. I considered calling Hammer, except I knew he would never believe me. I even considered calling the old man, Arron King, but I didn't want to endanger him.

Boyd, an expert groundskeeper as well, had shut the now-empty coffin, recovered it with the soil, and then carefully replaced the grass as well. This had happened 18 months ago, and he had never told another living soul his story.

My heart was beating steadily, loudly. Adrenaline was flooding my blood stream. A good thing, because I suspected I was going to need all my strength.

Traffic on Los Feliz was sick, but I knew some short cuts, and after winding my way through some back streets that bordered some truly impressive homes, I soon pulled up in front of the mansion. The same mansion I had been in just a few days earlier.

Where I had seen a woman who had looked like Evelyn Drake's younger sister or cousin.

Only I was now certain she hadn't been Evelyn's younger sister.

I was certain it was her.

Evelyn Drake.

Back from the dead.